𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 𝐋𝐍𝟒

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐕

Paris – Olympic Village

Milaine Vanboven was in a situation she had absolutely no logical explanation for.

There was a girl in her hotel bed. A girl she didn't know. A girl she'd never seen before tonight. This girl—barefoot, half-asleep, and surrounded by tissues—was wearing a sequined top that probably costs a good amount of money and was now slurring something about how «Jules never liked real women anyway.»

It smelled like gin and heartbreak in the room.

Milaine stood by the door, arms crossed, mouth parted slightly in disbelief. «What the hell» she whispered to herself..

Just What have she gotten herself into?

This wasn't supposed to happen. Tonight was supposed to be simple. Clean. One drink. That was the deal.

•••••
A few hours earlier

Paris was buzzing and it streets were glowing. Cafés overflowed. Athletes wandered the city in branded jackets and team pride, finally off-duty for the night.

Milaine had won both her opening matches with precision and had been perfectly content to spend the evening in her room with a protein shake and a film from the 80's..

But Carlos Alcaraz had other ideas.

«Just one drink» he'd said, following her down the athlete's dining hall with that boyish grin that got him out of more trouble than it should've. «Come on, Vanboven. Paris is meant for celebration.»

She'd resisted. Of course she had. She was strict. Disciplined. Omar and Willem would be proud of her...

«Carlos» she warned. «I'm not drinking»

«Not drinking much» he corrected with a wink. «One. We're Olympians. We deserve one.»

So she agreed.. Just to shut him up..

He'd taken her to a sleek bar not far from La Seine, filled with athletes, Models and influencers who all seemed to know each other.. Carlos had bought them drinks. Gin and tonic for him. Something much lighter for her, she barely touched it anyway..

He got louder. More animated. Started flirting with a Finnish Pole vaulter. Milaine smiled faintly, leaning against the bar with her elbows, sipping ice water now, already planning her exit.

Then it happened.

The girl.

A tornado of perfume and cigarettes. Messy blonde hair everywhere, eyes red from either makeup or crying—or both.

She staggered next to Milaine like it was fate and blurted out «Can I ask you something really inappropriate?»

Milaine blinked. «Uh...sure?»

«If your ex is dating someone hotter than you...is it toxic to want to sleep with both of them just to prove a point?»

She said it like it was a genuine philosophical dilemma.

Milaine stared.

The girl continued. «Like—she's got this perfect waist and hair like one of those Spanish girls that are always tanned and have boobs bigger than my dreams.»

There was a long pause. Milaine turned her body slightly toward her. «Do you...need water?»

That was how it started.

Fifteen minutes later, Milaine was texting Carlos—«I'm leaving. And it wasn't just one drink.. Pay for my dinner tomorrow as an apology.»

Thirty minutes later, Milaine was hailing a cab.